Paternal Instinct
by Clementine Angst
Summary: She's hiding his son, and he wants him back. DM/HG.
1. Rescued

**Paternal Instinct**

Chapter One—Rescued

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, any of the characters in the book, or anything else related to the book.

Description: Exactly five years after Hermione was rescued from the depths of Malfoy Manor, she returns to retrieve an abandoned child ridden by the evils of his lifetime, a boy that must be hidden from his family and protected from Draco Malfoy.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The whole Weasely family bombarded her with hugs, as her engagement with Ronald was finally a reality. The intensity of his happiness was tangible while proof existed in his smile. It was done so romantically, the proposal. Exactly five years to the day that she had returned, that she had been rescued from the dark and hollow pits of the Malfoy Manor.

They held her captive for two years, more than eight months after the demise of the Dark Lord. Her memories remain scarce, ruled by darkness and evil—destroyed by obvious and unconquerable enchantments that the most professional healers could not reverse.

She emerged from their custody distraught and destroyed, but herself in its entirety. No wizard, nor the Ministry of Magic, could divulge what happened within the house, Death Eaters roaming around like vultures. It was suspected that judges and wizards were paid off by the Malfoys to keep quiet, to restrain questioning and researching into the events. Hermione was resolved to her ignorance, save for the horrifying nightmares that plagued her life. Nights when she sweated and panted and thrashed back and forth, nights when Draco Malfoy frequented her dreams as an evil, heartbroken boy—the only image she can fathom of him.

"Let's take a picture!" Ginny exclaimed, arranging everyone in a presumably appropriate order before aligning the camera up to their happy frames, the auto timer clicking in a magical fashion.

With the blinding flash, Hermione allowed her thoughts to wander toward her job—working at the Ministry for the wizarding world's child services as the figure who explicitly removed each parent-ridden, sorrowful child from the ruins of their homes or the abuse of their parents. Ron disliked the hands-on nature of her career, the danger it presented when she was adamant on entering locations related to Death Eater activity, even if the last time a meeting of Dark Magic was celebrated was three and a half years ago. After 'rescuing' the child or children from their situation, she was to bring them to one of several orphanages, adoption centers, etc., located all throughout the wizarding world. Usually, it was recommended that the child be sent somewhere far away from their location if they held neither familial ties nor friendships at their home, most indefinitely for their safety.

As another light penetrated her mind, she reentered the moment and captured the joyous expression of Molly and the excitement of Ginny with all her heart, begging to be able to remember these events.

But an owl tapped against the glass in persistence, beckoning the crowd into silence.

"Hermione, dear, it's for you," said Molly. "Looks like it's from the Ministry."

Fondling it gently in her fingers, the parchment scratched itself mercilessly as she read:

_Urgent. Malfoy Manor abandoned, word of neglected child within. All other workers on duty. Your help is necessary._

She stuffed it within her pocket, making sure Ron did not read it or witness to where she was called. They knew her past at work, so she assumed her help was necessary if they disregarded her history.

"I have to go. I'm sorry," she kissed Ron lightly before walking to the fireplace and in a hushed voice that did not raise above the reinitiated conversations, she stated, "Malfoy Manor."

It was in ruins. The fireplace through which she had entered was the only stable structure in the room. Where her team was, she could not see so she called out, "Hello?"

When her response was silence, she assumed most were off duty or suspended with a case somewhere, working busily, for their office only held about twenty workers. The career was highly selective, highly competitive and offered increasingly dangerous circumstances lately.

"Hello?" she cried again, hoping to solicit an answer from the abandoned child. When the sound of sporadic weeping caressed her ears, she walked further into the room. Noticing a small figure in the corner, she approached cautiously.

"Hey," was her gentle tactic. The boy raised his head, platinum locks cascading against his silver eyes. She was unaware Malfoy had a child, of whom she assumed this to be. He must have been four, five, maybe six, with a characteristic, tortured look in his eyes she witnessed so many times in those of Draco's.

He struggled with his words, "Are you—are you going to take me outta here?"

"Yes," she smiled. "Will you take my hand?"

His fingers quivered as they met hers, and he uttered, "My dad. Father? Where is he? Where?" His features suddenly obtained a distraught and defiant stride. "I need him," he cried, whined, blubbered into Hermione's legs.

"Honey," she started, looking past him to the darkened corners, to the broken lamps, peeling wallpaper and desolate rooms. The tile was eroded, the mantle to the fireplace in pieces on the ground and the railings to the stairway looked as if they were burnt by flames. She was perturbed by the setting, queasily reminded of ugly circumstances that once held her here. Immediately belittled by the foggy memories, she grasped the boy's hand tighter and apparated to the Ministry.

"Hermione," the Minister commented, "Good job! But we haven't the room for this boy."

"What do you mean?"

"The orphanages are bursting at the seams with dark activity at a high, you know that. We have no place to put him."

She became irate quickly, "So what? You're going to throw him back out on the street, put him—"

"No," he interrupted. "We will find a proper foster care program for him. But the list is remarkably short and this boy is a Malfoy. We must locate the safest and obstructed place for him to stay, strictly for his wellbeing."

Before she could comprehend the words exiting her mouth, she spoke, "I'll do it. I'll take care of him."

"Miss Granger, with all honesty, your ties to the Malfoy family serve only as a disadvantage."

"I will not implement my opinions of this boy's father or grandfather upon him. You know I would do no such thing, it is not my nature."

"On the contrary, it is human nature to think and act that way. I cannot trust that you will act in the best and most efficient way. I do not want a relapse; I do not want my best worker to be abducted by her past in fostering this child." He paused, glancing to the closed door in hopes a knock would interrupt their meeting and cease the decision making process. He spoke softly, "You must hide him from any potential Death Eaters. Do you understand? He is in danger, much danger. If a member of his family contacts you, approaches him, report it directly and immediately. You can do this, Miss Granger. But promise me, that this will not affect your work."

"I swear," she promised sincerely, as if it was a matter of life or death.

He called the boy in, who had been sleeping soundly in the hall. "Hermione Granger, this is Scorpius Malfoy. Miss Granger will be taking care of you, all right?"

"I have to stay with _her?"_ the boy accused, his tone hostile and unfamiliar to the cowering boy she knew just hours before. A Malfoy through and through, she assumed. "Okay."

She brought him to her house, a large property about three miles from the Weaselys'. It was big, expansive and a small lake sat near the brink of a forest at the edge of her lawn, along with a garden and a collection of picnic tables and various, looming trees. With the money from her job, with the money inherited from her grandparents, she was able to purchase this slab of land and the house that sat atop it from a mourning son of whose mother recently passed on.

"This is your house?" questioned Scorpius. "But you live alone."

"Yes," she commented halfheartedly. "I bought it when there was a good deal, so I could save money in the future."

"Oh," he remarked, "where will I sleep?"

"Upstairs, there's a bed already made up," she smiled before gesturing toward the stairs.

"Thank you, Miss Granger."

She corrected him immediately, "It's Hermione. Call me Hermione, please."

He hesitated, "Okay, Hermione." She could see, by the sudden detachment from their conversation, that he desired something.

"Hungry?"

He nodded meekly before following her into the kitchen, sitting upon a stool that lined up next to the counter. She placed two bowls on the tile, removing ice cream from the freezer and setting it down. He watched her intently, her graceful mannerisms and her wavy hair, and a sudden feeling of such warmth spread through him. He felt as if he was doing his father a disservice by being so attentive under the care of a female, for he did not know his mother and promised his father never to ask who she was.

"All set," she beamed, pushing the bowl before him, a metal spoon jutting out appealingly. He began to eat when a strange man popped into the room.

"Hermione! I was so worried," he bellowed, reaching her and kissing her hard on the lips.

"Sorry, Ron. I got tied up." She used her eyes to gesture at Scorpius, and said, "This is Ronald, Ron meet Scorpius."

Ron was silent momentarily, noticing Scorpius's appearance, before exclaiming, "He's a damn Malfoy! What's he doing in your house?"

"I'm taking care of him, so settle down."

"He's staying here?" inquired Ron. "In _your_ home? How can this be? Why did the Minister allow this? He knows about what those bastards did to you, Hermione. He knows!"

"I volunteered!"

"You…you…well," he mumbled, "I guess I won't be staying the night."

"I guess you won't," she sighed, preserving her eye contact for the wall.

Ron looked dissatisfied, "I'll come by tomorrow, early. It's Saturday. I hope you don't plan on working."

"Actually," she persisted, "I'll be busy."

"Doing what?"

She felt so sad all of a sudden, so disappointed in Ron. Despite their engagement, she said, "Something, it's not important."

He resigned to not knowing and kissed her goodbye, not bothering to wave at Scorpius. He stared at the vacant space that previously held Ron and grimaced, "Is he your boyfriend?"

"Fiancée, as of today."

"Sorry to ruin your night."

"It's not ruined. Ron's, well, he's an arse on his good days. I'm sorry you had to see him explode like that, he had no right to say—"

"You knew my father?"

Hermione blanched, "I, well, yes. We went to school together."

"At Hogwarts?" he asked and she nodded. "He said he was coming back to get me, but never did. Is he dead?"

Hermione wanted to admit to her ignorance, but settled on a resolute, "No," because she didn't have the heart to disappoint him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A/N: Okay, new story. Next chapter will be up really soon. Thanks for reading.


	2. SelfRespect

**Paternal Instinct**

Chapter Two—Self-Respect

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, any of the characters in the book, or anything else related to the book.

Description: Exactly five years after Hermione was rescued from the depths of Malfoy Manor, she returns to retrieve an abandoned child ridden by the evils of his lifetime, a boy that must be hidden from his family and protected from Draco Malfoy.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Don't you have to go to work?" Scorpius asked, poking at his blueberry muffin.

"The Ministry is giving me some time off to take care of you, so I've nothing to do."

He just looked at her, his eyes rather vacant, and it perturbed her greatly. He was wearing one of Harry's shirts, because he had come over earlier to see how they were. It was humungous on him, practically a dress. But she couldn't take him to Diagon Alley. He needed to stay in the house, near her, the Minister admonished when she asked if she could bring him out. So, Ginny was grabbing him some clothes and Ron was apparently not speaking with Hermione, unbeknownst to her, and Scorpius was looking rather depressed.

"What's the ministry?"

She nearly choked on her juice before replying, "It's the government, you know? It's a big building, too."

"I lived in Greece. Father and I stayed there."

"Really?" Hermione asked, suddenly intrigued. "All your life?"

"Yes, that's what my father told me. He's always right."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "I don't know about that."

"When will I get to see him?"

She sighed, accidentally, "I'm not sure."

"You don't know if he's alive," he deducted, causing Hermione to conclude that this boy was, in entirety, too smart for a four year old.

"We don't know," she revealed, slightly ashamed of having to hurt him. "I wish we did. I do."

But he stayed silent, still poking at his food and staring at the wall, competently avoiding Hermione's eyes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Scorpius! Scorpius, where are you?!"

He kicked a deserted piece of wood across the room, slamming his fist into the wall. The boney chandelier rumbled above his head, little diamonds raining upon him. Where he left his son, only negative space sat—as still, unwavering air. It was dangerous for him to be here, for him to enter Britain with his wand and the need to do magic. He was still wanted for the kidnapping of Hermione Granger, a crime that was associated with his name but not an act of his choice. Yes, he grabbed her from the tent when Potter wasn't looking. Yes, he brought her to his home at the bidding of the Dark Lord, but he did not want to hurt her. His actions merely existed as tactics to survive.

He did not know if she was alive still, if she survived past the day that he left her. It was raining; it was the day Scorpius was born. As a stormed brewed beyond the walls of the manor, and word of the Dark Lord's death traveled to headquarters, he took his son and ran, ran until he was out of breath, ran until he met a kind, elderly man who escorted him to a small village in Greece where no one knew of magic, or Hermione Granger or the Malfoy name.

It was almost freedom, living as a muggle. He performed spells infrequently, but he was never caught nor tracked down. And the elderly man, Thomas—a wizard, too—allowed them to stay in his home for the past five years, until he died of some sickness and Draco fled.

Dropping Scorpius at the Malfoy Manor, he concluded, was one of his worst ideas ever. He planned to leave him there momentarily while he visited an old friend, but he was gone too long, too distracted, apparently. This old friend was the first to see Draco since the end of the war and the Dark Lord's demise, and this heightened Draco's worries. But his father was still alive, lurking in the shadows, while his mother was pardoned and living in some other house, was what he heard. She was always removed from Dark business back when the manor was headquarters, making her completely unaware of Scorpius.

He was seriously considering reentering society and trying to convince the world of his innocence or his reasoning, whichever seemed more appropriate. But, with Scorpius gone, he concluded he needed to remain concealed and he needed to find his son, immediately. Until then: he would camp out at the manor, merely temporarily.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"I don't understand, Minister."

"Miss Granger, magic is a beautiful thing. Since the wizarding society has never laid eyes upon dear Scorpius, by temporarily altering his hair color to match yours with magic, everyone will assume the child is yours."

Hermione sighed, falling back onto her couch. "I want him to agree with this!"

"Very well, Scorpius! Come here, please, boy."

He entered with trepidation and sat next to Hermione upon the red couch, leaning against a golden pillow. "Yes, sir."

Hermione explained the plan, trying not to appear biased, before he replied: "On one condition, sir."

"And what is that?"

"That the awful redhead isn't assumed to be my father. My father has more dignity and self-respect than him. I will not soil the Malfoy name!"

Hermione looked momentarily confused, "Are you sure he's only five?"

"That can be arranged, Scorpius, but only by Miss Granger. I have no say in her personal affairs, but she must explain to the press—"

"The press?"

The Minister chuckled, "After all these years of being Harry Potter's best friend, have you learned nothing? And, as it is pertinent you understand, if anyone of his family or of that nature contact you, you _must_ report it."

The press was like vultures. Photographs snapping, microphones thrown in their faces—all she wanted was to get him some proper clothing. She should have gone into Muggle London, she chastised. This was wrong, so wrong, to subject such a young child to this.

And as a single question rang above all the commotion, she delved into her answer to stay true to Scorpius's wishes.

"Is his father Ronald Weasely?"

She looked the crowd dead on, grasping his hand tight, and stated, "No" before entering a random café and escaping the mob.

They sat down at a table far removed from the windows, off in a secluded corner near a green and sated bookshelf of which Hermione took great interest in.

"Why do you like books so much?"

"They're wonderful, don't you think?"

He snorted, "Maybe when I'm older. My mother likes books."

Hermione nodded and smiled—of course he had a mother, of course. She had been idiotic and ignorant to assume otherwise, yet the sudden mention of this woman sent Hermione's senses into a fit of envy. Why did she feel so passionate about this boy, after just one day? She could not understand her sudden attachment, but did not fail to deem it inappropriate for the working environment in which she thrived.

"My mother likes books, too," she added unenthusiastically. Her mother was also obsessed with white smiles and healthy treats and making Hermione settle down. This thought immediately reminded Hermione that she failed to notify her parents of the engagement, of Ron and the proposal, and she felt horribly out of place. It could wait, she rationalized, and there were many more important things she must tend to.

"Hermione," began Scorpius. "How long does my hair have to stay like this?"

She laughed, heartily, "Oh, not for long. Just, just until everything gets settled and figured out, okay?"

"But that's going to take _forever_."

"Stop whining," she joked.

"Malfoys do not whine."

Hermione studied his face intently, trying to recall when she'd heard that sentence before. Was it back in school? No, no it wasn't. But she hadn't seen Malfoy since then, unless he was in the Manor when she was captive. She closed her eyes, attempting to remember, but all she received was a blank and forlorn notion of past experience that left her completely unsatisfied.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Lucius Malfoy sat on the deck of his estate, the one located in France, and waited patiently for the daily delivery of the _Prophet._ It was his only connection to home that was left, but he just recently began getting it. He found a sullen house elf while on a walk one day and brought him home, his solitary duty to fetch a copy of the _Prophet_ each day. It had been like this for weeks now, and it caused the muscles of Lucius's body to ache with longing for his manor and his wife and the life he once had.

The front page read: _Mystery Man fathers five-year-old Granger boy._ So Granger had a son, and it wasn't Weasely's. This deserved a visit back to the Ministry, maybe he'd see if he could find his son and question him about this. Five years. Five years ago, the Granger girl was just rescued. Five years ago, the Dark Lord was defeated. How peculiar, that this boy was five years old.

So he read further:

_Spotted yesterday at Diagon Alley, War Hero Hermione Granger and her five-year-old son, Scorpius, avoided questions by slipping into Bradley's Café. When asked who the father of Scorpius is, she blatantly stated that it is not her fiancé Ronald Weasely._

He considered the photograph: Hermione appeared distraught, hugging Scorpius tight against her legs while cameras flashed and bombarded the pair. Oh, yes. This required a visit back home. It was absolutely necessary.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After she had tucked Scorpius in, Hermione entered the bathroom to take a bath and relieve some stress. Upon standing and securing a towel around her frame, she felt a foreign hand wrap around her waist, another close over her mouth and a wand dig into the flesh of her neck. Her attempts to scream were silenced by a charm as she hoped, with all her might, that this man was not going to hurt Scorpius, was not going to take him away.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A/N: Next time:

**"Hermione?" Ron called, walking further into the house. As heard muffled voices beyond the bathroom door, he knocked anxiously. "'Mione?"**

**"Yes," she called across the wood, opening it just slightly to grant him a small segment of the room. He smiled at her attire: a simple towel, rumbled and creased. "Ron, hey."**

**She seemed nervous, he concluded. "Hey! What are you doing in there? Cheating on me?"**

**She sighed, "Oh, Merlin. This is not the time!"**


End file.
